


The Devil Goes to Shul

by Arlome



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, F/M, Judaism, Mentions of the Holocaust, Post Hell, Religion, good ol' Jewish argument, rabbi - Freeform, the Devil has feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 11:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20257198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlome/pseuds/Arlome
Summary: “We have to go and see the Rabbi,” she begins resolutely, bracing herself for the Devil’s reaction, “will you behave?”Lucifer rises to a sitting position like a dragon crawling upwards from his pile of gold, his smile gleeful and sharp.“I’ll be a good boy, Detective,” he purrs darkly and winks.The unmistakable mischievous glint in his eyes is telling her a different tale."Or, what happens when the Devil is up for a good argument.





	The Devil Goes to Shul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [matchstick_dolly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchstick_dolly/gifts), [ObliObla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/gifts).

> My eternal thanks to [Fleem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fleem/pseuds/Fleem) , [Obliobla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla/works?fandom_id=8114503) and [Matchstick_Dolly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchstick_dolly/pseuds/matchstick_dolly) for the wonderful beta and saving me with footnotes (I'm looking at you, Matches!)
> 
> Matches, Obli, this is for you ladies, for the wonderful help you bestowed upon a wretched scholar trying to write a bloody paper about Herod. Bless you!
> 
> This took a lot. I hope you like it. It has the blood and soul of my people in it.
> 
> To Grandpa Saul, who survived Auschwitz, beat the bastards, built a family, and died at the ripe age of 93.

It takes her ages to climax, this time.

She’s lying right there, naked as Venus, with a gorgeous head of tamed raven curls bobbing up and down between her parted thighs, worshipping her like the Goddess she’s not. Her lover is desire itself, sin incarnate, lust and gluttony combined, and the sensation of sharp pressure, of sweet torture in her pelvis rises with every smart flick of his capable tongue. It climbs upwards, ascending to the planes of her taut stomach, tightening her womb as it goes – there, _there_, nearly there –

The pressure takes a wrong turn, loses its footing, and plummets to its untimely death.

Chloe whines in frustration.

Lucifer lifts his face from between her legs, his mouth and chin catching the dim light from the open bathroom and glistening sinfully.

“Everything alright, darling? It never takes you this long to come; something on your mind?”

Something _is_ on her mind, as it happens. A case; 42-year-old male, found stabbed in the back in a filthy alley, his pristine white dress shirt covered in dried blood. His entire attire - from the velvet headpiece to the long white woven strands peeking out from underneath his shirt - screamed Orthodox Jew.

She really hopes it’s not a hate crime.

Chloe looks down at the puzzled Devil and sighs; she slips her fingers into his hair and tugs gently, earning herself a delighted moan.

“Nothing,” she lies softly, to appease him; she doesn’t want to kill the barely conscious mood. “Just-just put that smart mouth of yours to good use, please.”

He smiles wickedly, his natural glee rekindling the fires in her belly; the reddish tint to his eyes making her gasp, and shudder, and writhe in anticipation.

When his mouth finds her again, she tries to empty her mind.

Later, as they lie side by side on her bed, staring at the ceiling in easy, satiated silence, the worries and thoughts return. Chloe sighs and presses her fingers to her eyes. There’s just no escaping this case anymore.

“We have to go and see the Rabbi,” she begins resolutely, bracing herself for the Devil’s reaction, “will you behave?”

Lucifer rises to a sitting position like a dragon crawling upwards from his pile of gold, his smile gleeful and sharp.

“I’ll be a good boy, Detective,” he purrs darkly and winks.

The unmistakable mischievous glint in his eyes is telling her a different tale.

Chloe exhales loudly and inwardly counts to ten.

“Lucifer, I mean it,” she grunts and sits up to drive her point home and goes as far as to poke him in the chest with her finger. “That Rabbi is 82 years old, _and_ he’s a Holocaust survivor; don’t you dare be an ass to him!”

He grabs her offending finger and brings it to his mouth, planting a soft, open kiss just below the nail. Chloe huffs and turns her head so that he doesn’t see the small, uninvited smile, or the blood in her cheeks. He pulls her closer to him, presses her tightly to his feverish skin, and inhales the scent at the crook of her neck.

“I will try, darling,” he admits against the column of her flexing throat, his lips ghosting over her skin. “No promises, though; I _am_ the Devil.”

She pushes at him, and he laughs and raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright,” he concedes, nodding, the smirk still plastered on his face. “I’ll do more than try. Chances are, I’ll even succeed; Rabbis don’t irk me as much as priests do. They’re always up for a good argument.”

“Good to hear,” Chloe deadpans and crosses her arms, and Lucifer tilts his head to the side in that uncomprehending way of his, as if he’s trying to read her, only to find out that she’s written in a foreign language.

“Is that what was on your mind earlier?” he asks softly, and Chloe is surprised despite herself, at his sudden insight. “The case?”

“Yes,” she admits, her cheeks burning. “It bothers me… We don’t have any leads; I’m worried it may turn out to be a hate crime.”

“Ah,” he says simply and nods in understanding. His fingers brush her shoulder, soothing and soft, drawing galaxies on her cooling skin. Chloe pulls her knees up and, hugging her legs to her chest, plants her chin on top of them.

“I really don’t want it to be a hate crime,” she whispers into the blanket forlornly and sighs. Lucifer’s warm hand slides down to her bare back, fingers tapping against her curved spine. It’s pleasant – calming – and she finds herself closing her eyes.

“You’re so very good, darling,” he mutters, closer to her ear, his lips gliding over her hair, settling on her temple. “It’s sickening, really.”

Chloe laughs despite herself, and the laughter is deep and rich and comes straight from her belly and climbs up her lungs. She turns her head, leans her left cheek on her knees and regards him softly.

“You’re such an ass, Satan,” she whispers sweetly, and the smile that she gives him reaches her eyes and hurts her cheeks. Lucifer shrugs, fingers still dancing on her skin, and tilts his head again, smiling smugly.

“Perhaps,” he concedes magnanimously, like a benevolent king, or a generous master, “but I’m _your_ arse.”

Chloe sighs theatrically.

“Just my luck,” she moans, falling back against the bed and trapping his warm hand under herself. “I’m stuck with you forever!”

He follows her downwards, his neatly trimmed stubble brushing against her shoulder as he leans into her. His breath is even and unrushed, but she can feel his rapidly beating heart against the flat of her belly, sense his hardening interest pressed to her thigh.

“Afraid so,” he replies consolingly and kisses the corner of her mouth, lips open and hot. “Would you like to file a complaint?”

Chloe pinches his arm and he squirms, gasping at the sudden shock before he grabs her waist in retaliation and presses into her, heavy and willing.

“Never,” she breathes into his mouth and wraps herself around him, welcoming him into herself like a long-lost rib. And he shudders and sighs and clings to her in the darkness, moving softly as water against her skin.

And later, when they lie entwined, ready to be claimed by Morpheus, sluggish from lovemaking and indulging in sin, Chloe leans close, and whispers in his ear, “We’re still going to see the Rabbi.”

And he replies, “Yes, dear.”

* * *

Rabbi Saul Schulman lives in a quaint little house on S Clark Drive in the Pico-Robertson neighbourhood, about 20 minutes’ walk from his synagogue, _Beit Israel_. There is nothing particularly striking or interesting about the Schulman residence, Chloe notes as she pulls over to the curb. Freshly mowed lawn, neatly clean driveway, three stairs leading to a plain wooden door. Beside her, in the passenger seat, Lucifer leans eagerly across the parking brake to peer outside the window.

“Lovely,” he breathes, all giddy excitement and keen mischief, “I’ve been due a good argument for centuries now!”

Chloe rolls her eyes and pushes at his shoulder. He turns to her, smiling wickedly, his gaze falling to her lips.

“Hello,” he mutters, leering, “didn’t realise you were quite so close, darling.”

“Oh, really?” Chloe demands, sarcasm leaking out of her ears, as she pushes at him again. This time, he retreats to his seat obediently, but the smug grin on his face remains intact. “Anyway, there is to be no argument. We are here to ask questions regarding our murder, and _that’s it_. Got it?”

Lucifer snorts and starts laughing, then turns to her with amused disbelief. “Detective, we are entering the house of a _rabbi_,” he says, pronouncing the word deliberately slowly, as if to help her understand the gravity of the situation. “Arguments are a given.”

Chloe closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to steel her already frustrated mind.

“Just – ” she opens her eyes to find him smiling impishly, “Just behave, okay? _Please_, Lucifer…”

His face softens and his smile loses the naughty gleam, turning gentle instead.

“Alright,” he agrees, placatingly, and reaches for her hand, “I will try to behave. Just for you, Chloe.”

And there she has it. The bastard uses her name, and she melts and turns into a puddle. And he knows it. _Of course_, he knows it.

Smug Devil.

“Right,” she mutters and withdraws her hand to unfasten her seatbelt. “As long as we’re clear.”

“Crystal.”

But there are too many teeth in his smile, and Chloe has the brief flicker of doubt about bringing him with her, but before she manages to growl another warning at him, Lucifer springs out of the car and practically flies up the driveway. She scrambles out of the vehicle and rushes over to him before he does something rash, like knock on the front door.

“After you, detective,” he grins, gallantly, and his hand comes to rest on the small of her back.

She shoots him a glare, but his smile only widens, and Chloe needs to mentally compose herself before raising her fist to knock. His presence behind her is a bit chaotic, excited, and just a tad too warm. She begins sweating a little in her jacket.

They don’t have to wait long. The door opens to reveal a child about Trixie’s age, wearing a flat little crocheted headpiece that’s sporting the Bat-insignia in multiple copies over its edges.

“Nice _kippah_,” Lucifer offers, and the boy’s eyes turn to regard him narrowly.

“Thanks,” he says, folding his arms, “who are you?”

“LAPD,” Chloe rushes to explain, before Lucifer can make a mess of things, “We have a few questions for Rabbi Schulman.”

The boy’s head tilts to the side, and she can hear Lucifer’s delighted snort behind her, clearly enjoying the intense scrutiny.

“Show me your badge,” the boy demands, and Chloe moves her jacket aside to show it pinned to her belt. The child leans in to peer at the badge before straightening and moving away from the door, finally letting them in.

“Cool,” he says and gestures for them to follow him, “Grandpa is reading _Mishnayot_ now. He’s in his study.”

They pass through the living room, where two other children and a young girl of about seventeen raise their heads to regard them as they pass. The house is pleasantly light and tidy, Chloe notes, as they move further into the occupied space. A large table, covered by a cream-coloured cloth, stands in the middle of the room. There’s a bookcase standing by the window, laden with heavy tomes with golden Semitic letters on their binds – Hebrew, she gathers. There’s no TV set. There are a few pictures on the walls; all still lifes: a vase with wildflowers, a green bowl full of grapes and figs. Lucifer takes heed of her interested gaze and leans in to whisper in her ear, “No anthropomorphic or zoomorphic representation, Detective; we’re in the presence of the truly righteous.”

He says it with glee, and Chloe sighs, mentally gearing up for a tough interrogation.

The boy leads them through a corridor, to a closed door on the right.

He knocks almost reverently, a clear contrast to the way he handled them but a few moments ago, “Grandpa, the police are here to see you.”

He must hear something on the other side of the door, because he nods and twists the knob, revealing a small room crowded with heavy, bent shelves, groaning under the hefty weight of many more books. In the corner, behind an elongated table, sits an old man, scrawny and frail-looking, hovering over an open tome. He raises his head at the noise and smiles, the edges of his neatly trimmed white beard twitching upwards.

“Ah, Zvi, thank you, my boy,” he says, and his voice strikes Chloe as infinitely gentle and soothing, and she finds herself relaxing a little, despite her instincts, “tell Grandma that we have guests and shut the door behind you, please.”

The boy nods and leaves without resistance, throwing one last suspicious glance at the newcomers. When the door closes behind him, the old man turns to Chloe and Lucifer and smiles.

“We’re babysitting for our youngest at the moment, you see,” he explains amicably and closes the large book, “Now, what can I do for you?”

“Rabbi Saul Schulman, I’m Detective Chloe Decker and this is my partner, Lucifer Morningstar,” she says, taking a step forward; behind her, she can feel Lucifer fidgeting a little. “We have a few questions regarding the murder of Gerald Hoffman. We were led to understand he was part of your congregation?”

Something in the Rabbi’s face changes and his shoulders slump a little. He nods, sadly.

“Oh, yes, poor Gerald, may he rest in peace. Please,” he indicates to the vacant chairs on his left and across from him, “have a seat, Detectives.”

Chloe lowers herself onto one of the chairs; Lucifer remains standing, his eyes following the Rabbi with thinly-veiled interest.

“מה שלומנו, כבוד הרב[1]?” he asks suddenly, and Chloe starts in her seat and turns to regard him with wide eyes. The language is soft, exotic, with just a hint of raspy roughness dragging along the edges. There’s melody and rhythm to his speech, and she finds herself suddenly drawn to the ageless feel of the unfamiliar words gliding off his tongue.

“ברוך ה', אין תלונות[2],” the Rabbi answers, clearly very much surprised himself. He lets his eyes take in the impressive height and build of the person in front of him, and furrows his brows, “You hail from the Holy Land, Mr. Morningstar? I must say, this is not a Hebrew name.”

Holy Land. Hebrew name. Lucifer was speaking Hebrew.

Chloe sighs inwardly. _Of course_, he was.

“Oh, no, Rabbi!” Lucifer answers gleefully, leaning over the back of the chair next to hers, his perfect British accent back in place. This seems to confuse the old man even more. “I’m from a _much_ holier place, myself – originally. Just got - well, shall we say - an _ear_ for languages.”

And then the Rabbi smiles and leans forward, his arms folded on the table before him.

“Tell me, my son,” he inquiries, his voice taking on a distant yearning quality, “What can be holier than Jerusalem?”

Something passes over Lucifer’s features.

“Heaven,” he answers simply, and the zesty smile slips from his face.

“Lucifer!” Chloe hisses, trying to ground him to the present before he goes off the rails. They are here for a reason, with a clear purpose in mind. Or, at least, she is. “Sit down!”

He looks down at her as if seeing her for the first time. She quirks her eyebrows at him and tilts her head slightly towards the table, trying to remind him what they are here for.

“Yes, dear,” he says absentmindedly and takes a seat.

Chloe breathes in sharply and wonders if she can wring his neck.

“Of course, you’re right,” the Rabbi suddenly remarks, causing the pair to turn in his direction, “we did all originally come from Heaven.”

Lucifer seems to recover at the philosophical nature of the sentence, the slightly manic smile returning to his face.

“Yes,” he drawls, “but, in my case, I took a little detour in Hell, for a few millennia.”

Chloe kicks his foot under the table; he doesn’t so much as flinch.

The Rabbi nods gravely as he seems to consider Lucifer’s words.

“Ah, but we’ve all gone through the torment of cleansing our souls before God, haven’t we?”

Chloe can feel Lucifer tensing beside her, can sense his body going unnaturally still at the Rabbi’s sentiments. From the corner of her eye she can see him leaning forward, opening his mouth to speak, no doubt about to deliver some scathing retort, so she presses hard on his thigh under the table, squeezing as painfully as she can. This time, he does jump in his seat and turns to her, ready to argue, when the door opens and two women walk in with loaded wooden trays, full of goods.

The older of the two approaches the table with confidence and energy and places a tray of tea things on the wooden surface with a soft ‘thud’. She is clearly the Rabbi’s wife, Chloe muses, as she takes her in, admiring the stylish, modest clothes and the classy black hat on her head. A handsome woman, even in her 70s, with radiant, powdered skin and sharp grey eyes.

“Good morning,” she greets the room, exuberantly, “I’m Miriam, Saul’s wife. Zvi told me you are with the police?”

“They’re here to ask some questions about Gerald, Miri,” the Rabbi explains sadly, earning a sorrowful look from his wife.

“Oh, terrible business!” She supplies mournfully, clasping her hands together in the universal gesture of praying, “left a young wife behind, and two small children - Oh dear, Rivki, I’ve not noticed you there with your tray, come and put it down, sweetheart; it’s heavy.”

Chloe turns to make way for the other woman holding a platter full of cookies and other baked goods, only to recognize her as the young teenager from the living room. She’s very pretty up close, just on the cusp of womanhood, skin fresh and cheeks rosy. Her chestnut hair collected in a simple braid, her clothes as modest and well-chosen as those of her grandmother. The girl, Rivki, steals a look at Lucifer as she lowers the tray on the table, and colour rises in her cheeks. Chloe can’t begrudge her that; even if he wasn’t the magnetic Devil that he clearly is, his physical beauty can’t be denied.

She does, however, clear her throat rather purposefully.

“Well, we will leave you to it,” Miriam says, understanding apparent in her voice as she guides her affected granddaughter out of the room, “Saul, pour them some tea, they look parched! Oh, and do try the cookies, Detectives; my Rivki here made them herself!”

“I’m sure they’re simply _scrumptious_,” Lucifer purrs, smiling at the girl, who turns a deeper shade of red; under the table, Chloe kicks his foot again.

“What?” he inquires innocently, his face open, as the door shuts reluctantly behind the two women, “I’m sure they are!”

Chloe narrows her eyes at him, not fooled for a second by the honest expression on his handsome face.

“Nice try,” she hisses at him and turns to the Rabbi, who seems to be in the process of pouring out tea as instructed. “Rabbi Schulman, about the murder…”

The rabbi nods, resigned, and passes them two mugs of steaming tea. It smells sweet and strong and so homey, that Chloe has the fleeting urge to just forget about everything, lean back and close her eyes. But the case and its uncertainty, the looming threat of it being a hate crime, weighs heavy on her heart.

_Too bad that this is not a social visit_, she thinks, eyeing the plate of cookies with regret.

The Rabbi notices her stray look and hums.

“I’ll tell you all you wish to know, Detective,” he begins, bringing his own mug of steaming tea to his lips, “but first, you really must take something off that tray over there, or my wife will kick me out of the house.”

“Oh, no, I shouldn’t, really – “Chloe hastens to excuse herself, her flailing hand nearly knocking over her hot cup. Beside her, Lucifer leans over his own beverage and inhales the steam greedily.

Rabbi Schulman takes the plate of cookies off the tray and pushes it in their direction.

“Please, Detective; indulge an old man,” he requests, smiling almost impishly at her.

Cunningly coerced, Chloe takes two cookies off the plate and passes one to Lucifer. Understanding that the Rabbi won’t talk until there is actual food in her mouth, she takes a bite and fights the instinct to close her eyes in pleasure.

Lucifer’s initial guess about the pastries turns out to be correct. They _are_ scrumptious. The dough melts in her mouth, flooding her taste buds with the delicious flavour of cinnamon and vanilla. On her left, the Devil hums appreciatively.

“Good, isn’t it?” the Rabbi nods, taking a cookie for himself, “Our Rivki has a real talent when it comes to baking.”

“גאלדענע הענט[3],” Lucifer supplies suddenly, the foreign language – German this time, Chloe thinks – sliding off his tongue just as easily as Hebrew does.

The Rabbi nearly chokes on his cookie.

“My, but you are an אוצר בלום[4] of knowledge, Mr. Morningstar!” he coughs, brushing cookie crumbs off his beard, “I did not realise you knew Yiddish, as well as Hebrew!”

_Yiddish_, Chloe sighs inwardly. _Of course._

“I know _every_ language, Rabbi,” Lucifer supplies triumphantly, taking a smug sip of scalding tea.

“Rabbi Schulman, please – the case…?” Chloe chimes in desperately before another round of Yiddish-Hebrew back and forth can commence, “Gerald Hoffman?”

“Yes, of course, Detective,” the old man agrees and pushes his mug aside, “Gerald was a good man; very generous. Used to donate monthly to a few organizations – youth centres, soup kitchens, the Children’s Hospital. Everybody respected him; he and his wife used to host Shabbat dinners that were the talk of the entire congregation. He had no enemies, Detective. I can’t imagine who would do such a heinous thing to him.”

Chloe frowns and stares down at her tea.

No enemies. A good man. It looks like her gut feeling may be right, after all. Sometimes, she really hates when it happens.

“א מענטש טראכטת און גט לאכט[5], am I right, Rabbi?” Lucifer quips in Yiddish, putting another cookie in his smug mouth. Chloe turns to him with narrow eyes and murderous intentions, but he just wiggles his eyebrows at her.

“You _promised_ to behave!” she hisses at him, completely done with his witty, multi-lingual banter.

“This _is_ me behaving, love,” he grins, his tongue darting out to lick loose crumbs from the corner of his mouth, “you really don’t want to see me being _naughty_.”

And Chloe sighs, finally resigned, the fight suddenly leaving her like air out of a deflated balloon. She looks at Lucifer and decides to hang up her towel and call it a day. _Well_ \- she thinks as she takes in the glint in his eyes, the faint laughing lines, how truly spirited he seems - _At least he’s having fun. The Rabbi seems to enjoy the banter too, and I did get my answers…_

And for a moment – just for a fleeting second – if she squints, she can see the old Lucifer, the one from three years ago, sitting behind the piano with a holy man who had more soul than most.

He was happy then; he’s clearly enjoying himself now. Maybe there’s no real harm in letting Lucifer have his way, this time. Plus, the cookies truly are amazing.

“ה' נתן, וה' לקח, יהי שם ה' מבורך[6],” The Rabbi suddenly says, bringing them back to their conversation. “It is not our place to question the almighty.”

The glint in Lucifer’s eyes turns slightly steely.

“It is literally my job description, Rabbi,” he drawls, his smile all teeth. “Canonically, that is.”

Chloe drops her face in her hands and groans. Well, this is certainly turning out to be a very _interesting_ afternoon.

She just _had_ to bring him with her, didn't she?

Rabbi Schulman tilts his head, regarding Lucifer with amusement and not a little amount of academic respect.

“Tell me, my boy,” he inquires rather eagerly, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. “Are you Jewish, by any chance?”

Lucifer smiles triumphantly, his eyes shining.

“Afraid not, Rabbi,” he answers, his voice slick with honey, “but I am closer to God than even you lot, unfortunately.”

The old man narrows his eyes at him, smiling almost impishly.

“Could have fooled me,” he answers enigmatically with a slight inclination of his head.

Lucifer only laughs delightedly.

“Well, it is told that angels were the prototype for humans, so let’s assume your people were fashioned after me.” He leans in, elbow brushing Chloe’s arm in the process, and adds, smirking, “Lucky you.”

Rabbi Shulman arches his bushy white eyebrows and inclines his head towards her, stage-whispering, “Is he alright in the head?”

“Sometimes I wonder, myself,” she mutters, shooting daggers at Lucifer from the corner of her eye.

“Come now, Detective,” he smiles gleefully and winks, “you know I’m sane. I am the Devil, Rabbi. _Satan_; the one who made Job into a guinea pig. Ring any bells?”

The rabbi crosses his arms and shrugs; he doesn’t seem in the least disturbed by the news that the Devil sits at his table. Or that there’s a man in his house who imagines himself to be said Devil, for that matter.

“Eh,” he says, his voice gentle, “God was testing Job, my boy; I doubt it had anything to do with you.”

Lucifer stares at the Rabbi, lost for words for the first time since they arrived at the Schulman residence. Chloe smiles in satisfaction. Anyone who can shut her devilish boyfriend up gets a gold star in her book.

“I’m the _Devil_, Rabbi!” he explains with a disbelieving quirk to his lips, clearly unused to getting such a reaction out of a man in the service of his Father; but the old Rabbi only shrugs, spreading his arms in an everlasting question.

“And I don’t like my wife’s _cholent_,” he says, pursing his lips, “nobody’s perfect.”

Chloe looks away, desperately trying to hide her smile. This is suddenly turning out to be the best witness interrogation of her career.

“No, no, Rabbi – you don’t understand,” Lucifer cries, now clearly on the verge of exasperation, determined to prove the Rabbi wrong, “I really _am_ the Devil. Me! Evil Incarnate, and all that jazz!”

Chloe is ready to squeeze Lucifer’s thigh in part warning, part comfort this time. He’s going too far, and she doesn’t like it when he talks about himself in this fashion - but something in the Rabbi’s face stays her hand.

His jolly countenance turns serious suddenly.

“Let me tell you one thing, son,” he says leaning towards the archangel sitting across from him, “There were a few devils in the history of my people, and they are all dead. And if you are Satan, as you claim to be, then you know that the very last one of them is sitting below as we speak, having a nice chat with Nebuchadnezzar and Titus.” He shifts in his seat and reaches across the table to offer Lucifer his arm, “And so, if you truly are their torturer and warden, then let me shake you by the hand.”

The befuddled Lucifer takes the papery hand offered to him and shakes it feebly, leaning to whisper in Chloe’s ear, “Not at all accurate, but the old man has the right idea.” He turns to the Rabbi and regards him seriously.

“Satan is a strange friend to make,” he says gravely.

Rabbi Shulman drops his hand to roll up his sleeve.

Chloe gasps when the faded dark-blue spidery numbers come into view.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend, as they say,” the old man quips and smiles. “דער טייוול איז ניט אזוי שווארץ ווי מען מאלט אים[7],” he adds, and his eyes glint in understanding.

This last sentence, uttered in breathy Yiddish, seems to rattle Lucifer into a silent stupor and Chloe desperately wishes to know what the Rabbi just said. But before she has the chance to ask, Lucifer starts and seems to regain his ground, his eyes narrow and face dark.

“How can you serve God after this, Rabbi?” he demands in quiet rage. Chloe looks at his hand resting on the table and notes that it is fisted and shaking. She wants nothing more than to take it and bring it to her lips to kiss the anger away, but she knows that this is neither the place nor the time. “How can you have faith in him, after he just sat back and did nothing while your people were being slaughtered like cattle?”

“_Lucifer_!” Chloe gasps violently, tears flooding her eyes. And this time she does grasp his hand, and squeezes tightly, her nails digging into his skin.

“That’s alright, Detective,” the Rabbi says kindly, and lets his sleeve down before turning to Lucifer with infinite compassion in his old eyes. “נסתרות דרכי האל[8],” he sighs in accented Hebrew, “Faith doesn’t work this way, my son. I cannot worship God solely when things are good. Besides, I have seen my fair amount of miracles; I survived, built a family. Isn’t that the greatest victory of all?”

Lucifer grits his teeth so hard, Chloe fears he might crack his jaw.

“God doesn’t deserve your faith, Rabbi!” he utters, and his voice breaks a little with intense emotion. “He is a right bastard - a sadist who enjoys nothing more than to piss on his beloved creation and muck around with human lives!”

Chloe’s heart pounds painfully in her chest, her ribs aching with sorrow. Across from her, Rabbi Schulman’s face turns worried and anxious.

“זין מיינס, גאוט זול נישט שטרופן פאר די רייד[9]!” he cries in Yiddish, real apprehension in his voice.

Lucifer looks away, no doubt overwhelmed by the sudden concern from the old man.

“He already did, Rabbi,” he says quietly, eyes facing the laden shelves, gaze gliding hollowly over the tomes. “He already did.”

“We should leave,” Chloe says quickly and rises from her seat when she notices that the old man has more to say on the subject of Lucifer’s Father, “Thank you for your help, and the cookies, Rabbi; please tell your granddaughter they were truly delicious.”

Lucifer rises silently from his seat, the gleeful mood he was in when they entered this house completely dissolved. The Rabbi’s eyes follow his detached movements in sorrowful anxiety. He rises from his chair with some trouble and comes around the table to join them at the door.

“When can we get Gerald’s body back – for the burial?” he asks instead as Chloe reaches for the door, “The body must return to the ground, Detective; so that the soul can go and stand trial before God.”

Behind her, Lucifer scoffs bitterly.

“It doesn’t work that way, Rabbi,” he mutters, still not meeting the old man’s eyes, “Gerald is probably already having Kiddush wine with Dear Old Dad as we speak.”

“Even so,” the old man replies kindly with a sad smile, “we would like to bury him as fast as we can so that his poor widow can start sitting Shiva.”

“Well, we can’t release his body until the end of the investigation,” Chloe explains regretfully, “but we promise to do our best to solve this case as soon as possible.”

It worries her when Lucifer remains quiet, saying nothing about punishing the responsible party.

The Rabbi nods in understanding.

“Thank you, Detective,” he says earnestly.

Chloe can see that his shoulders are slumping slightly, that the part of the conversation dealing with a dead member of his flock is truly painful to him.

Another good man in the service of God for Lucifer to angst over.

It’s high time they left.

Chloe pulls the door open, but before she can drag Lucifer with her and pay her respects, she notices that the Rabbi is motioning for him to come closer and lower his head. With great interest she watches as Lucifer does as requested, with no complaints or aversion; sees the Rabbi placing his shaking, papery hand on the immaculately coifed strands, and leaning in.

“א חיעס אין דיינע אייגן[10],” the old man whispers in Yiddish and Chloe understands, from Lucifer’s sharp inhale, that the words are kind, soulful, and _good_ beyond measure.

Lucifer straightens to his full height, completely flustered. He blinks rapidly a couple of times, and the site is so strange, so unfamiliar, that Chloe needs to stop herself from gaping at him as he does that.

“זאוט סטו זיין געזונט, רעבא[11],” he replies in Yiddish, his lovely, ancient eyes a little on the moist side.

The Rabbi nods in understanding and smiles kindly.

“Good day to you,” he adds, as he sees them through the door to his office, “I will pray for your swift success.”

When they leave the house, Chloe snakes her hand around Lucifer’s arm, and presses her cheek into the fabric.

“You okay?” she asks, softly, pulling him to a stop before her car.

Lucifer is pensive and silent, his mind clearly elsewhere, and only turns responsive when Chloe reaches out to touch his face.

“What, darling?” he asks, eyes still centuries away, his lips twitching a little, doing their absolute best to achieve a mediocre smile.

“I asked if you’re okay,” she says again, rising on tiptoes to kiss his struggling mouth; the breath that leaves him when she pulls away is shaky and uneven.

“Yes,” he nods, turning his head to kiss the palm of her left hand, “yes, I am. No need to worry, Detective.”

“Rabbi Schulman is a very kind man,” she supplies gently, her thumbs brushing at his stubble, “seems to see the best in people; not unlike Father Frank, wouldn’t you say?”

“Foolish…” Lucifer sniffs, turning away, taking a step back and out of her embrace. He strides to the car and opens the door, slipping inside without another word. Sighing deeply, Chloe joins him and turns on the ignition. Cool air from the AC starts blowing in her face, and she relaxes slightly in her seat, leaning back and turning her head to regard him.

He’s sullen, and prickly looking, his eyes on the verge of fire, but she reaches out anyway and brushes her fingers on his thigh.

“It’s alright to admit that you liked him,” she whispers, eyes soft and heart even softer, “it’s okay to be emotional over being accepted; over being treated kindly.”

Lucifer scoffs and turns his head to his window.

“Don’t be daft, Detective,” he intones, but his voice is just a shade below stable, “I’m the Devil.”

“Yes,” she agrees, her hand still on his thigh, “you are.”

And she leans in to kiss his cheek, and returns to her seat, fastening her seat belt and pulling away from the curb.

She notes, gladly, that he didn’t seem to refute her words.

* * *

A few days later, Rabbi Schulman arrives at the precinct, accompanied by one of his daughters.

“Ah, Detective Decker!” he greets her enthusiastically when he notices her jump from her chair, “And how are you this fine Tuesday morning?”

“Rabbi!” Chloe exclaims, already guiding the old man and his chaperone towards one of the interrogation rooms, “What are you doing here? Did you remember something regarding the case?”

“No, no, I’m afraid not,” he says waiving his hand to dismiss the idea, “Tell me, is Satan around?”

To his left, Chloe can see his daughter rolling her eyes and smiling nervously.

“Dad…” she mutters out of the corner of her mouth, but the Rabbi only laughs and turns to wink at Chloe.

“Well,” he asks, mischievously, “Is he?”

Chloe ushers the duo inside interrogation room one, and closes the door, offering them a seat and taking one herself.

“He’s not in yet, I’m afraid,” she says, folding her arms on the table, “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Water?”

The old man shakes his head.

“No, thank you, Detective,” he explains, leaning forward, “We’re only here for a few minutes. So, Satan’s not here, you say…well, it’s for the best; for it is said ‘_a gift is given in secret_’, and we wouldn’t want to embarrass him.”

Chloe wishes to say that nothing on this earth or outside of it could ever embarrass Lucifer Morningstar, but she holds her tongue. Instead, she smiles a little awkwardly and says, “I’m afraid I don’t follow, Rabbi.”

The daughter leans forward and speaks softly in her father’s ear. The Rabbi chuckles and turns to pat her cheek.

“My Tzipi here thinks I’m being senile.” He smiles almost impishly and nods at Chloe, “what do you think, Detective?”

Tzipi, who looks to be in her early 50s, turns bright red and almost groans.

“_Dad_…” she mumbles, “get to the point, please.”

Chloe tries not to smile, tries not to laugh, as the old man finally takes pity on his poor daughter and turns back to her, suddenly all business.

“You understand, Detective Decker,” he explains in that gentle voice of his, “After you left, I did a little research on our mutual friend, and the internet told me that he is a man of wealth and taste. Now, why am I telling you all this? You see, yesterday afternoon, I was informed that my synagogue, _Beit Israel_, received a very hefty anonymous donation. And but a few hours later, Gerald’s widow called me in tears, saying that she received a letter – anonymous, of course – with a check stuffed inside. Can you guess what the money was for, my dear?”

Chloe manages to shake her head.

“Gerald’s upcoming funeral and Shiva expenses, paid in full.”

Her chest tightens, eyes prickle with sudden emotion; Chloe bites her lips and nods.

Rabbi Schulman smiles kindly at her in understanding and rises from his seat. Next to him, his daughter, Tzipi, hurries to take his arm and guide him around the table. Chloe jumps to her feet to guide them out.

“You tell your young man,” the Rabbi says, turning to her when they reach the elevators, “that, sometime in the distant future, if his Father allows it, I’ll nip down below for a cup of tea. You know, to show my appreciation.”

Chloe laughs wetly and presses the button for them, wiping a few tears from the corners of her eyes. She doesn’t even ask him how he _knows_, how he doesn’t judge; doesn’t dream of inquiring how he doesn’t as much as bat an eyelid over the fact that she’s dating the Devil.

What a stark contrast to the wretched Kinley, she thinks in long-buried misery; if only she had gone to the Rabbi a year ago, instead of to Rome, what _then_ would –

But it doesn’t do to dwell on past mistakes, not when there is a present; one that is finally _good_.

The elevator arrives with a ‘_ping_’, and the doors slide open. The Rabbi turns to her, the impish glint back in his eye.

“You call me when you decide to get hitched, I’ll officiate.”

Startled laughter spills from her lips and her eyes widen, and before she knows it, she’s pushing the button frantically, so that the doors of the elevator stay open for a few extra seconds.

“I’m not Jewish, Rabbi!” she cries after him, “And Lucifer, well – “

And the old man winks and leans slightly forward, and just before the doors close on his gentle, wrinkled face, she hears him call, “For you two, I’ll make an exception!”

She doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so, just in case, she does both.

* * *

“So, Rabbi Schulman came to see me today,” she tells Lucifer that night over a few glasses of wine and Chinese takeout. They’re sitting on the balcony in his penthouse, a little round table between them. One lone candle is burning in solitary brilliance in a lovely, ornate candlestick, rising like a lighthouse from the wreckage of paper containers.

Lucifer stiffens for a second before taking a sip from his drink.

“Yes?” he inquires in fake nonchalance, swirling his wine around and avoiding her gaze, “And what did the old geezer have to say?”

Chloe doesn’t answer. Instead, she places her glass on the table and rises from her seat. Lucifer follows her movements with his eyes, and only jumps a little in pleasant surprise when she slides into his lap and takes away his wine, to place next to her own glass. Her hands come around his neck, and she leans in to kiss his temple.

“That was very kind of you,” she whispers into his left sideburn and feels him shiver slightly under her lips. “The Rabbi said something about ‘_gifts being given in secret_’? But he knew that it was you.”

Lucifer scoffs a little and reaches around her for his wine. Chloe burrows in, closer to him, and makes herself comfortable in his lap. His hand comes to rest on her thigh, fingers drumming absentmindedly.

“Yes, well, don’t tell anyone,” he says, at last, eyes fixed on the dark horizon; on the stars, millions of years and memories away. “I’m the Devil, dear, and he doesn’t do ‘kind.’”

Chloe smiles at his stubborn delusion and kisses the spot below his ear, delighted to feel him shiver again. His hand on her thigh tightens and climbs higher, and her breath falters just a little at the suggestion.

There will be time for that, later, of course. They have the entire night.

She waits for him to bring the glass to his lips, before she adds, as if in an afterthought, “Oh, and the Rabbi also offered to officiate for us, if we ever decide to get married.”

Her laughter carries over the night as the Devil splutters and chokes on red wine.

**Author's Note:**

> **1.** Ma shlomenu, kvod ha’rav? - How are we doing, honourable Rabbi? (return)
> 
> **2.** Baruch Hashem, ein tlunot - Thank God, no complaints. (return)
> 
> **3.** Galdana hant - Hands of gold. (return)
> 
> **4.** Otzar balum - hidden treasure (return)
> 
> **5.** A mensch tracht un gat lacht - Man plans, and God laughs (return)
> 
> **6.** Hashem natan ve Hashem lakach, yehi shem Hashem mevurach - God gave, and God has taken away, may God’s name be praised (return)
> 
> **7.** Dar taivil iz nit azoi shwartz vi man malt im - the Devil is not as black as we paint him (return)
> 
> **8.** Nistarot darchei haEl - God works in mysterious ways (return)
> 
> **9.** Zin mains, gat zol nisht shtofen far di reid - my son, may God not punish you for such words! (return)
> 
> **10.** a chayes in daine aigen - let there be a smile in your eyes (return)
> 
> **11.** zaut stu zain gezunt, rebe - May you be healthy, Rabbi (return)


End file.
